Unbroken Faith
by Karasai
Summary: Survivors of a hard fought battle against the Forces of Chaos are swallowed within the plot of a Daemon. Flung into a universe not of their own, they are thrust into the epic conflict between both the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems. They will be forced to not only question their faith, but also their resolve.


_Whelp this is my first story here. So I don't know if it will be trash or good as it can be._

 _Regardless, While I'm at work I always read these good fics and they've kind of inspired me to finally write one of my own I suppose._

 _So here's to hoping that I'll continue this further. Though I'm sorry to say that the Star Wars part will come out next chapter, that's for certain, but where did this daemon send them? No one knows!_

 _Anyways I'll appreciate any reviews given!_

* * *

War often leaves its mark on even the hardest of warriors. Be they fanatics or moderates, there is little that we may do in order to stem its touch. There is even less that we can do to forget its horror and what it turns us all into. Whether this horror rests in the endless void of space or upon a ruined plain that stretches beyond what the mortal eye can see. In the end, a distant sorrow will take hold of our hearts and chip away at our soul. It has been years since a sane man has walked through this galaxy swallowed in war and it will be far longer for sanity to come back to it.

A lone Sororitas knelt amid the destruction wrought on one of the myriad of battlefields throughout the Imperium. What world it was mattered little in the scope of this grand scheme for there was little else that detail would provide. She knelt among the dead of both her sisters and her sworn enemies. Tears of loss dripped from her pale cheeks, painting almost a beautiful picture as the twin stars rose in the horizon. The scent of death, oil and scorched earth permeated the air like a thick smog. One unused to such things would have merely choked or reeled back at the horror that beset this lone Sister of Battle. This daughter of the Emperor.

What horrors this woman had witnessed the night before had now passed, much like the fading darkness. She had survived the storm that clashed against them in one, final gambit against their chaotic foes. Her sisters were dead, the brave men and women of the Imperial Guard lay dead and even the venerable Adeptus Astartes lay in this horrible plain. Quietly she steeled herself once more before forcing herself to stand on her own once again, she turned her gaze to the rising stars. In this luminescent display, she found an almost intimate beauty that she had not yet known on any battlefield. No sight such as this had ever graced her watchful gaze. She felt the warmth on her pale, scarred cheeks while her silver hair remained caught in the violent wind.

Her appearance was muddied by the battlefield as blotches of dirt and blood coated her once gleaming armor. What cloth hung from her waist had been torn and scorched from what fire she had come under while an unusual shoulder cape hung from her right shoulder. The cape itself was bleached white with the usual red lining that held her heraldry belonging to Argent Shroud. In her right hand she held her only remaining weapon, a bolter that carried a half spent magazine. The weapon carried the scars and scorch marks of the battle that had lasted the night. Only blood and dirt now stained it's once brilliant crimson metal. She cut an image that few would find to be uninspiring. A lone hero of the Imperium having survived the night of impossible odds, but in this woman's mind she knew that she would not be alone. Not in this storm. She couldn't be.

With faith locked firmly in her still beating heart, she took her first step. Worry blemished her ghostly pale visage. To many, she would have been mistaken for a noblewoman had she not the obvious signs that she took up the sword. Her exposed face was unblemished by any markings outside of a set of scars that marked the right side of her face. It was the only marring that her almost saintly visage held and yet worry distorted her usually stoic face. Never was she one to succumb to rage as she was always far too busy with her concern for the flock. That wasn't to say she did not have her moments of weakness nor the fact that she was perfect. Despite her saintly visage, she was a plagued woman by both the lives she had ended in service of the Emperor but also by what horrors she had witnessed.

As she roamed the battlefield in silence, she could not help but think of her sisters. How they had eagerly spoken with one another. How they had reminisced about one of the many battles they had participated in. They spoke not of glory but a kindred spirit that grew within the squad as they fought alongside both Marine and Guardsmen. The Sister who now searched for survivors had an aching heart for a great many guardsmen and marine. She adored all servants of the Imperium yet she dare not speak of her feelings with anyone. She was often a silent guardian, one whom sought only to ease the pain of suffering or to restore hope. She was also the mailed fist as she was a maiden of war, meant to crush and burn the enemies of the Imperium.

Her name was Varel and her mind was not still. As she crested a hill, she caught sight of a small group of Guardsmen. Immediately her heart soared with joy while she ran with all haste. She shouted loudly with a voice that pierced through the roaring wind and distant rolling thunder. Immediately catching the attention of the Guardsmen that stood about. She could easily count four though their genders she could not yet discern at such a distance. As Varel approached with quickening steps she could clearly see what was happening. She gripped the magazine as she braced her bolter against her bicep and went into a full sprint. She needed to reach these soldiers, she felt that she was needed.

* * *

If Sera Velosa had been told that she'd be among one of four Guardsmen to survive through the night, she would have called them a liar. She was often regarded as lucky and a great many from her company joked that she was a good luck charm. She had shared a great many days with the men in her company and some of them she looked to as brothers. However, weariness now loomed over the female Guardsmen as she struggled to stand on her own feet. She, among the three remaining men who had survived the storm now rested among their own dead. Spent charge packs lay strewn about the muddied trench that they called 'Home'. Here at the front, life was hard and because of it she had hardened as well... but she could have never been ready for something like this.

A part of her wished that she hadn't been such a stupid harpy and left. A piece of her had wished she stayed within those cold walls of the place she had called home. However, this was the life she chose whether it was willing or not. She swallowed dryly before she used her rifle as a sort of brace to help herself back onto her feet. Compared to most guardsmen and most people in general, she was short. They called her the tiny princess as if it were amusing for them to prod at her almost ceaselessly. She couldn't help but smile at a memory that allowed her an escape of the horror that rested before her. She heard the laughter of one of her comrades. Robb his name was, she recalled how much he complained about waiting around. Her attention had immediately affixed upon him.

"R-Robb... are you okay?" She asked in an informal tone. She had gotten to know him quite well over the past month that they'd served together. He was from the hives as far as he'd tell her, never really talked about family and only about how he wanted a family. Always about the family. Regardless, the look in his eye... it was concerning. As she had called out to him, he gave no response. "R-Robb!"

"Cut it Sera, he's not going to frakkin' respond." A gruff voice pierced into existence, their sergeant had lived through the night. She remembered how he had inspired them, how he kept them alive as best he could. The man was like a father to her if not a little... rough around the edges. "The boy's lost, I suggest we give him the Emperor's peace. We don't have much use for a sack of broken guardsmen. More harm than good."

"B-but Sarge..." She chimed in while he held his hand and raised his laspistol. Her eyes fell from Robb as his weapon was level with the boy for a moment as he continued to laugh. Sometimes fighting against Chaos did something to a man, the atrocities they caused were often too much. This was a mercy. At least that's what Sera told herself. What else were they to do? The third then stepped in front of Sergeant's laspistol. The third man who lived was Nathaniel Davien, someone that never really liked authority much and he was little more than a jerk who never spoke up for anything. Yet now he was doing this? What was there to do here? Her mind moved quickly while she took a step as she gripped her rifle. What was she to do? Instinctively, she backed her sergeant. Raising her lasrifle, she pointed it at Nathaniel. "N-Nathan, you need to step away f-from him! It's a-all we can do for him!"

"Throne's grace your frakking kidding me." Nathaniel spat back at Sera, obviously in disbelief with what Sarge was doing. Sera however, wasn't. Nathaniel and Robb were newcomers to the battlefield. This was their first time so to speak and they'd act like this?! Insubordination! Sera kept her rifle trained as she ignored his comment. "You're gonna just kill Robb off because he's off his frakking rocker? What do you think he's bloody corrupt now or something?!"

"Boy, don't test my patience." The Sergeant said with a deathly calm. He wasn't one to be trifled with in circumstances like this. He was a big man, broad shouldered and dark skin. In all honesty, a lot of the troops who passed under his wing were scared of him. Though it probably didn't take much to scare a guardsmen these days. "I swear upon the Emperor's throne I'll kill you both. I don't care, the kid's useless to the Imperium now! Look at him, Nathaniel! Do you think you want him watching your back?!"

"Frak you sarge!" Nathaniel roared back at the man as he reached for his weapon. "Like hell I'll let you kill my last frakking friend!"

The Sergeant was about to respond when a fifth voice called out in the distance. It was feminine and distant. The sound of her voice was long enough for the gruff man to turn his head away while Nathaniel continued to pull out his weapon. Sera couldn't stop herself from pulling the trigger. She feared for her sergeant's life and she wasn't going to let this upstart take him from her. The rifle kicked into her shoulder as the lance of energy pierced into the man's head, burning right through. Nathaniel's weapon then discharged into the ground as he fell onto the ground while the older man snapped his attention back. Robb having snapped let loose a ghoulish scream and reached for a weapon. He grabbed a knife that was laying not to distant away and charged in a violent fit. Shots soon rang out, however they weren't from Sera's rifle nor Sarges'.

* * *

War as always was a messy business as it left a great many things to chance. Even the hearts of men were subject to it's atrocities and even the hardest of warriors would soon break under it's weight. War however was nothing more than yet another constant. A fact of life. So the ancient saying went; "Few will die while many live on".

There were all sorts of questions that needed asking in times like this. Such as how a good soldier of the Imperium would turn his weapon against his allies. Why was it that they made their stand here and why is it that only these few survived. Why had it come to this? These were questions that raced through Varel's mind as she watched the situation unfold. At this distance, she could hear the shouting and witnessed the exchange of fire. Who was she to trust? Clearly there was insubordination happening right before heri eyes. An act that was often punished by summary execution. One of them fell after she had called out to them and not soon after she leveled her weapon as well, not daring to slow her step.

It was then that her blood ran cold as her crystalline blue eyes caught sight of the third party. Lowering her weapon, tucking her bolter against her bicep again, she ran. Towards them. Towards the Guardsmen who were now in danger. Her hawkish eyes had caught the sight of the looming figures belonging to Traitor Astartes. Supposed angels who had turned their back from the light of the Emperor himself and betrayed their brothers in order to follow both their Primarchs and Arch-heretic. She would not suffer the loss of such brave men and women to such men.

The first Chaos Astartes that came into view was clad in obsidian black battle plate. Trimmed with glimmering gold that contrasted against his hellish appearance. There was no hesitation in his following actions as he leveled his ageless bolter and opened fire. His shots were expert enough to make any marksman jealous as his shots rang true and tore apart the insane guardsman. It was obvious that he cared not for the life of a man who turned his back against the Emperor, but there was no envy to be had. Varel was quick to arrive as she tackled both the Sergeant and his last remaining guardsmen onto the ground. Despite what threat crested the horizon, she needed to act as quickly as possible. Varel needed to stand her ground and turn her attention towards what she faced as she knew herself to be physically inferior. Her decision to tackle both guardsmen had saved their lives as bolts showered the ai where they had once occupied.

"Guardsmen!" Came her urging response as she ascended back onto her feet as she leveled her own weapon to take aim. "We must move from here, we are too exposed!"

Varel pulled back the trigger and felt the dull kick of her weapon as she attempted to rake her enemy. She saw sparks born from grazes and blasts from several other impacts, but she grimaced for a moment more. She had not penetrated the Astartes battle plate. She quickly begun to simply distract the Chaos Astartes as she made sure the guardsmen were back on their feet. They rushed back to the closest piece of cover on the battlefield. A ruined Chimera which seemed to have been blown apart by some explosion. Right now, how it became such mattered not, but the mere fact that they were protected for the time being from the deadly aim of this Chaos Astartes was enough.

Varel kept her posture low while she continued her steady burst fire until her magazine ran dry. As the final bolt flew from the chamber, she braced her weapon once more and fled behind the ruined tank to meet with the two guardsmen. She reached out for the female Guardsmen who was clearly in a state of panic and fixed her eyes upon the Guardsman. "Steel yourself Guardsman, the Emperor's work must be done."

The Sister knew not if her words stirred the guardsman or simply fell on deaf ears. She could not afford to dwell on the issue for any longer than she already had. She pressed her back against the cold metal husk and closed her eyes. Inhaling quietly as she reloaded her weapon with the dwindling supply of blessed ammunition she carried. As she pulled the firing pin back, her crystalline blue eyes opened as she begun to mutter a near silent prayer.

She knew that this fight would be quick if she could not manage to penetrate the Chaos Astartes' battle plate. As she finished her prayer, she moved as swiftly as ever. Stepping out from the ruined Chimera her life was nearly ended. Ducking low, she heard the harsh sound of several bolter rounds nearly erasing her head from existence. As she fell to her knee, she leveled her bolter while she roared a simply praise to the Emperor with her weapon. The boltgun kicked into her shoulder while she caught the lances of lasgun fire smacking into the battle plate. Her shots rang true as well, the obvious impacts of her bolts against solid, reinforced battle plate sounded out. A hideous sound of laughter burst from the lone Astartes as he tossed his weapon aside and drew a chainsword.

Varel knew that their blessings were quickly running out as she held no hope against a Traitor Astartes in close combat. In terms of strength anyways as she lacked the sheer power that he commanded. Instead of hesitating, she moved forward as well. Knowing not if the Guardsmen would aid her in this desperate attempt. She knew the Chaos Astartes was arrogant from his actions, but there was no time to think that as she was to brace herself against what could have amounted to a charging squiggoth in her mind. The Chaos Astartes swung his blade expertly at Varel as she met his swing with her boltgun. The ear piercing whine of the chainsword's blades howled ghoulishly into the empty battlefield. Varel allowed herself to fall with the blow and so her dangerous dance begun as she engage this Chaos Astartes. She avoided as best she could, experiencing constant near misses. Varel faced death today, she knew it the moment she caught sight of this lone fiend. She grit her teeth as she deflected another blow from her bolter and pushed forward and fired her weapon point blank.

The boltgun roared to life as round after round punctured through the ancient battle plate and detonated within the Chaos Astartes' body. Shrapnel metal and gore exploded from her enemy as his grip upon the chainsword loosened while she fell under the giant's weight. The fiend died howling like the daemons he fought alongside with. As silence descended again, she attempted to lift herself once more. A wave of relief washed over her as she felt as though she cheated the Emperor's gaze. She lived where most would have died. She allowed herself a moment as she held the rosary that hung from her left wrist.

"The Emperor Protects." She muttered quietly as she turned her gaze to the Guardsmen as her shoulders relaxed as she held her boltgun in case more horrors came bounding their way. As she approached the two guardsmen, she got a better look at them. "I thank you for your aid, Guardsmen. I am truly thankful I was able to preserve your lives."

Sera nearly forgot herself when the Sister turned her attention towards herself and her Sergeant. She was nearly reverent at the woman's almost unfathomable beauty in the image she cut. She appeared as a savior to them both in her eyes. It wasn't until she felt the prodding jab of her sergeant that she inclined her head in thanks. A brilliant flush of red inhabited her cheeks for a moment before the Sergeant formed the Aquila at the Sister as she returned the gesture.

She often marveled at the Sisters who had been stationed at this planet. They were diligent, pious and brave. It was something that had brought a well of hope within her chest. She soon shook her thoughts from her mind and finally summoned the courage to speak. Well, that was before her Sergeant spoke up for her.

"We thank you for your help, Sister." His response was respectful and quite odd. The man wasn't much for using a formal way of speaking. Regardless, he would step around the ruined Chimera and look at the battlefield and what was left of it. "Were there no others?"

Sera's attention had shifted from the Sergeant and onto the Sister who had yet to offer her name. As she watched the woman's expression grow from jovial to... filled with unspeakable sorrow. Her heart grew heavy not for their situation but also for their comrades. As she thought on the moment, she turned her gaze towards the west, as a question floated upon the tip of her tongue.

"What of the Astartes?" She asked as she turned her attention back to both the Sergeant and the Sister. "Could we not look for them in hopes of direction?"

"It's a start..." The Sergeant drifted in thought as his hand was brought to his five o'clock shadow, rubbing the sandpaper stubble on his face. The Sergeant then decided to offer their names. "I'm Sergeant Sirius, what's left of my squad is... Sera."

"You honor me, brave Guardsmen, Varel shall suffice Sirius, Sera." The Sister nodded with a gentle smile upon her lips. "I feel you and the good Sergeant are correct. We must look for survivors. Alas, I am unable to hail any on Imperial frequencies, though I believe my vox has been damaged."

Sera nodded silently, knowing more was not to be spoken as the three of them begun to venture to the west. Though unfortunately, they knew not of what they would find beyond this day and had they known... they might have faltered. Regardless, with the three en route they were to meet more of their comrades in arms that were locked in a terrible battle. As they crested the hill, the booming thunder of assault cannon, heavy bolters and boltguns echoed through the air. The tree were soon influenced to run towards these sounds of battle.

* * *

The Galaxy in which the Imperium is constantly assailed is a turbulent one. The will of the gods are always shifting, changing as time goes on. None are capable of truly understanding the grand plan nor the 'great game' that the dark brothers play. None can truly learn the scale of what horrific intent that corrupted gods may possess. Daemons claim to know the will of the god, but they are mere instruments in this horrible existence. Even now, as three insignificant lives move through an empty battlefield, they believe Chaos has lost. How wrong they are.

How very wrong.

A shadow pulls to the very edge of the physical, warping reality as it pulses like a silent drum beating in the night. The body of a deposed Guardsman begins to move, influenced by the warp itself. Skin peels away and blood boils. Fire is born and what was once corpse flesh now lives and breathes once more. A chaotic laugh spills from the dead Guardsman, Nathaniel, only for a language so sinister to spill from it's lips. The Nathaniel-thing beguns to follow like a shambling corpse from the tales of old.

It's laughter continues, almost like a court jester. Jeering at the sheer hilarity of what had just happened. Slowly, it stalks as it encroaches upon the echoes of battle. A battle in which it's daemonic brethren now waged against the Corpse-Emperor's foolish servants. The Nathaniel-thing becomes smug, almost sickeningly so as it catches sight of what few men remain upon the battlefield. It sees the hilarious monologue before it and it's smile grows even larger.

The monologue of the pious Sister Varel as she wishes to seem strong for the two others. How weak she was and how unsuspecting. What glory that she be chosen for this horrific plot. Laughing at the thought of warping her very fate and casting her across time and space. It was devious to be certain. Then there was the 'Good Sergeant'. Ah, yes, Sirius his name was to be uttered. He held secrets that not even a Keeper could have guessed! So very tempting... so very... delicious. He was a black soul amid a blinding light. Yet, how could one forget the runaway. Sera and her pitiful hope. Her 'friends' and family having turned away from her. She was an oddity to linger in the realm of monsters. The Nathaniel-thing wished to feast upon her innocence and consume her very essence. Regardless, these unsuspecting fools were to be chosen for it's plot.

As it followed them, the Nathaniel-thing kept changing. Limbs grew and fell as it begun to warp itself into a true denizen of the Warp. Power flooded it's very being as the ground it walked upon begun to warp in a nonsensical manner. To mix the material with... the immaterial. It was a jovial thing to witness for the Nathaniel-thing turned Daemon. A set of four, brilliant yellow eyes sporting nonsensical pupils watched them. It's eyes shifted about, observing the world as it stalked them. As it hunted them.

"What glory shall be wrought." It spoke in low Gothic. It's voice whispering upon the wind as it watched the three arrive to see... to see nothing but death. Soon, the creature unleashed a howling laugh that caught the attention of all who remained. "WITNESS WHAT GLORY IS MINE TO UNLEASH!"

The Nathaniel-thing soon burst with the Immaterium's energy and twisted it's existence as the world itself was torn asunder by unfathomable power. The ground split, light bent and space became warped. It was as if the planet itself had been plucked from reality. Horror filled their eyes, panic in the voices of those that they had found. More survivors to rally around their glorious savior. Glorious. What a term!

The Nathaniel-thing soon felt it's material body shredding apart as it's sole purpose had been carried out. It's horrific, hellish laughter carried on the wind like some great apparition. The very fabric of reality tore and this world was thrust into the chaos of another plane of existence. Where the Immortal-God Emperor did not exist. Where the Warp did not thrive. A saint to be denied to the Imperium. Cast aside as her story had just begun.

The great game would not be disrupted by any mortal woman. It would not suffer any threat against it's board. With the entire planet plucked from the known galaxy, the Daemon returned to it's master with purpose fulfilled.


End file.
